Sunday Glass
Sobriquet: Sunday
Appearance: a skinny, dirty street girl in simple patched hand me down grey clothes.
Behavior: Sunday is a sweet girl who has seen the darkness of the streets and the evil things men do. She will talk with anyone open to her, especially if there is food or treats involved. Sunday is observant, seeing the "real world" and shadows of other lands co-terminus with that real world.
History: Sunday Glass was born on a Sunday and christened with the small mercy of a name that made people look twice. At twelve she already knew every gaslamp and gutter between the docks and the market: where the policemen took their breaks, which pubs belched smoke where men cursed too loudly, which doorways felt warm with business even at dawn. She sold matches and rolled cigarettes on a cracked stool beneath the railway arches, calling out in a voice that had learned to sound cheerier than the ache in her knees. The money she scrounged paid for bread and soot-smeared bandages for a mother who coughed at night and for the two younger brothers who still slept with toys made from tin. The city taught Sunday to be small and quick; it taught her that charity was kinder when wrapped in a cigarette paper and a smile.
But London taught her other things, too—things the policemen pretended not to see. She had watched a beast shift under fog and go on all fours into a side-street, felt a gentleman's chill breath on her neck as a pale patron decided her coin was worth a warning rather than a want; she had followed a woman who never quite touched the ground and learned to listen when chimneys and alleyways spoke of old grudges. The supernatural was not a story to her but a ledger of debts and favors, and Sunday learned the names of the creatures that fed on desperation. She knew with a bone-deep certainty that she was slated, by poverty and whisperers, for the ugly adult work people only spoke of in clipped tones—rooms lit by candle-smoke and promises. She has no desire to be sold into a future she can already see, so she hides coins in her matches, learns to mend boots and read signboards by moonlight, and bargains with ghosts for directions; whatever it takes, Sunday will find a way out of the rooms and into a life that keeps her hands clean.
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